Sexy Dr Malcolm
by decemberrain2011
Summary: 3.5 thousand words of pure smut. Possibly my best writing here, ever. Ian/OC


***Prologue: Ian Malcolm is having too many drinks at the bar. He has been home from the island for three years and is being closely watched by the narrator (an OC). I don't own the character Ian Malcolm.* **

Sexy, confident Ian. All eyes on him.  
A blonde woman with silky hair hovered near him at all times, her eyes wide with longing. She nervously fussed over him, fingering the buttons on his shirt. He paid her no attention but asked for drink after drink, delirious. Another woman massaged his shoulders while he relaxed in his chair, head resting against the wall, content and delirious.  
I wondered if this aroused him.  
I wanted him naked, on the floor, fucking me hard.  
One of the women falling over Ian squealed as he spilled his drink on himself and the floor.  
I'd never seen him such a mess.  
The blonde positioned himself over his lap and forced her tongue into his mouth, unable to hold back her desire. He dismissively pushed her away.  
She and her friend hurried away as he coughed and slumped in his chair.  
The party was over and everyone was leaving or had left. Everyone but Ian.  
His shirt was untucked, jacket askew, tie partly undone. His pants were twisted on his legs, showing several inches of ankle. His eyes opened and closed. He swallowed once, thinking hard about how to do it.  
He noticed me and watched me cross the room to him.  
"Well, don't you clean up well," he mumbled. His eyes devoured my body, devoid of any filters under which he normally operated. He looked vulnerable, touchable. His lips parted, eyes fluttering shut.  
I wanted him more than life itself. I wanted his taste, touch, scent. I wanted to feel his body against mine, but maybe a drunk kiss would be enough for now.  
Buoyed by my own intoxication I knelt over him and ran my hands through his hair, leaning in, inhaling. He smelled like pine, or something that my drunk mind could not process. It did not matter.  
His eyes fluttered open and I knew he saw me, and knew me. I pressed my lips to his, thrusting my tongue inside, dizzy with his taste and the plush feel of his lips. He returned the kiss feverishly, flipping me onto the ground and pinning me beneath him. His hands were clumsy as he fumbled with my buttons and could not undo them. He kissed greedily and hungrily, sloppy from the alcohol.  
His eyes met mine and he made some kind of snarling sound in his throat. As drunk as he was, I could see the recognition in his face. He knew.  
He rolled off me in a drunken stupor. One handed rested below his waist. I wanted to press my hand against his. I wanted to make him hard.  
His hands explored my body.  
"Ian, I fucking want you," I gasped.  
"Oh, hell," he slurred.  
Eric appeared at the door, exasperation playing off his features as he took in the sight of his friend Ian sprawled out on his bar floor.  
"Why don't you take him home? He can't drive. Can you drive?"  
I nodded, trying to stay calm.  
"Here, I'll help you. Take his arms. I know his address, here's his address." Eric handed me a slip of paper.

ssSSSSSssssss

Ian came to very quickly in his dark little apartment where I practically dragged him to the sofa.  
"You're already sober?"  
"Not entirely. But I'm no lightweight."  
"Do you even remember anything that happened?  
"Of course I remember. I was-I was, trashed, not...not, uh, passed out," he said curtly. My heart almost stopped. His face was unreadable. Was he embarassed?  
I stood shakily and packed my things to leave. He stepped in front of me and braced his hands on my shoulders. His striking face was full of something akin to concern and desire.  
"Stop. Stop."  
"What? Why?"  
"You're too drunk to drive any more than you already have. Stay here for a few days."  
I knew, and he knew, I did not need that long.  
He placed his hands on my hips and moved me to the couch. His touch was light, only the fingertips. Enticed, I wanted more. There was static between us and I felt it when he exhaled and I detected a faint shudder to his breathing. I imagined his hands on my naked hips. There were already blankets there. I wanted to drag him down on top of me and rip his clothes off with my teeth.  
"Now, I...um..." he seemed at a loss for words when our eyes met. He stroked me with them, blantantly and obviously devouring my body with his eyes.  
He was confused and delirious.  
"Ian, you're drunk," I said softly.  
"I'm sobering up."  
He disappeared for awhile and then reappeared at the door.  
The marlin boating shirt was perfectly unbuttoned, the top three wide open. It was so intentional I almost laughed. He had completely put himself back together but was swoozy.  
He stood in the door, bracing his hands on either side of the frame. He stood there for far too long.  
"If you need anything, I'm at the end of the hall on the right. Don't hesitate. For any reason," he added silkily.  
He lingered for a moment longer and then left. I watched the subtle, sexy figure 8's he made with his hips when he walked. I wanted to follow and he wanted me to follow, but neither of us knew how to ask.  
I waited for awhile. Ian's living room was spotless but bare, so much different than at his old home at Wish Place. He had an eye for furniture, basic but sleek with dark colors dominating the room. I wanted to snoop but knew I would be mortified if caught, so I held back.  
I waited for a half hour and then could not any longer. Drawn by a magnetic pull I walked to his room.  
I knew he expected me. The door was wide open with a hint of light from a lamp in the corner. Inside, a fan whirred oscillated in the corner. The room was dark and spotless, wood paneled and sleek. There were photos of his family on the wall. His bed was luxuriously large but austere in its dark gray covers and tan sheets. I wanted to be in that bed. With him. All over him.  
It was far too dim for reading, yet he had a book on his lap. With wide placid eyes he looked up from his book and regarded me. He was relaxed and lying on his side, wearing shorts and a sleeveless white shirt. His unshaven face, gray mixed with black. I wanted to bite his lower lip. I could see his naked feet and the dark hair under his arms. I found it intimate and sexy.  
"You aren't reading that," I said simply.  
His book was upside down. Embarassed, he blinked and I regretted having said anything.  
"What are you looking for?" He asked softly, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. His voice was slippery smooth.  
"I don't know if you can give me what I want," I said softly, knowing he knew what I wanted.  
His eyes softened. "Tell me what you want."  
You. I want you.  
I crossed the room and sat on his bed with my feet on the blankets.  
"I can't sleep."  
He closed his book and reached over me to set it on the nightstand. His hand fell to my thigh and stayed there, making slow circles with the rough pad of his thumb. Our facade so quickly falling to pieces. I memorized the texture of it and imagined it pressing into me between my thighs. I was aware of every shadow, every angle, every vein in his hand, every hair.  
"You can't sleep? You're not having problems with that again, are you?" He smiled, half amused and half flirtatious.  
He had good memory. It had been so long since I'd told him that.  
"Are you trying to sleep?"  
"No..." He seemed amused but his dark eyes were heavy with desire.  
"You let me kiss you," I said matter-of-factly.  
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  
"Did you like it?"  
"Um, you know the answer to that one," he said softly.  
His callused fingertips stroked up and down my bare thigh, subtly moving inward. I opened my legs to his touch. His breath caught and he shuddered softly. He was hiding nothing. I realized how powerful he was right now; he was warm and inviting, friendly, open, and aware of just how attractive I found him. He was wielding these things to the point of almost making me believe that I had been wrong all the times I had witnessed him to be heartless and cruel. As if I had been seeing things.  
Brilliant. He was brilliant, with his spreadsheets and theorizing and everything he had done on his own. I wanted him more than anything or anyone on earth. I needed, craved, wanted, longed for him. Yes, he was startlingly good-looking but his intelligence mattered more. I wanted to fuck his brain.  
I meant to kiss him softly but I was weak and the kiss deepened immediately. Ravenously I forced my tongue into his mouth. He flinched with surprise but returned the kiss hungrily, parting my lips with his expert tongue. It was over now. There would be no going back, no pretending. My hands knotted in his hair and I felt our bodies responding to desire, sweat breaking out on our skin. Our breathing became heavier. My body trembled.  
When we finally broke away he swore and covered my mouth with his again. The kisses came and came and I began to shiver as the realization of what I was doing set in.  
"Shit," I groaned.  
"Shhhh..."  
He straddled me on all fours and sat back on his heels, pausing. He cracked each knuckle. "You're a bundle of nerves. Stop thinking. Lie on your back. Focus on my touch."  
I exhaled and he groaned, almost inperceptibly.  
"Focus on my touch. You'll feel amazing if you can relax."  
His hands molded over my thighs, tracing their shape as his mouth met mine again. His hands closed over my calves and felt the muscles that ran from the my knees to feet, and then back up again in soft strokes. Traced higher and spread my legs, rubbed his thumb across the edge of my underwear, so achingly close to where I wanted his touch. I was wet from desire and sweat. I was sure he could see, but he said nothing. My breathing was becoming uneven.  
He lightly stroked between my legs, soaking my underwear as he kissed me harder and more desperately. His tongue slid along my teeth once, and when I nipped his lower lip I felt his body trembling. He took my hands and held it against the hardness below his waist. I stroked him through his shorts and felt his body vibrating. His breath caught and he moaned softly as I stroked the tip.  
He pulled away suddenly. I felt a dull ache from where his hands had been.  
He sat back and met my eyes, eyebrows raised. I could see the discomfort playing across his features.  
"We can't do this," he said softly.  
"You're the one who wanted it!"  
He looked stunned and confused for only a moment. "I was not the only one who wanted it," he said softly.  
"What's stopping you?"  
"The years between us." His dark eyes were beautiful, deep and dark.  
"I don't care about your age."  
"You should care about my age," he said, but his voice was weak.  
"What do you want with me? Why not someone your own age?"  
"They don't satisfy my craving for what I want bady right now. I've never wanted anything more."  
"So I'm a temporary thrill."  
"No. Stop thinking. Please touch me. I crave you, Dr. Malcolm. There's nothing illegal about what we are doing. We're both adults."  
"It's wrong."  
"I've never felt more right."  
I rested my hands on his shoulders and kissed him before he could react.  
He returned the kiss, greedily. He was weak. This was a real, coherent kiss. It was hard and long and raw with want. The next one came, and then more and more and more. He was starved for kisses. I could feel it in the way he kissed. I wondered how long it had been since someone had kissed him.  
I tentatively pushed my tongue into his mouth and he made a strangled sound in his throat, thrusting his own tongue deep into my mouth.  
My clothes were in the way. I began to take them off as if by nature. I could not stop the longing, the want, the instincts taking over that pleaded and begged to be overtaken by the delicious pleasures of Ian Malcolm, chaotician.  
I stripped to nothing in front of him and he watched with wide, sad eyes. His hands moved to rest below his waist to stroke himself while he watched me. His eyes slipped below my waist and stayed there for a long, long time.  
I felt strangely shy, suddenly worried he would not find me attractive. What was he used to? I covered my breasts and kept my legs together.  
"No, no, no. Never cover yourself from me, you're very beautiful." He caught my hands and coaxed my arms down to my sides. Wideyed, he exhaled, his gaze burning through my skin. He lowered his mouth to brush his lips across the undersides of my breasts, and then closed them around my nipple, biting it lightly with his teeth and swirling his tongue around it. He sat up and gave both breasts a squeeze.  
"These are lovely," he said quietly.  
He sighed and then reached for me, pulling my legs apart. I flinched and began to roll over but he caught me. "Stop. What are you doing? You're flawless. Delicious," he slurred. His eyes were heavily glazed with lust.  
"You're not thinking," I whispered.  
"No, I'm drunk again, in a different way."  
His fingers moved between my legs and I felt myself opening up to him. He was two knuckles deep when he added a second finger, intensifying the sensation.  
"So tight," he muttered.  
My breathing was heavy, and when he stopped for a moment my breath caught and he laughed under his breath.  
"You're ready," he murmured. His eyes were soft, understanding my longing.  
He took my hand and held it below his waist. His eyes fluttered closed and he exhaled weakly under my touch. I stroked his hard cock, feeling the impressive size and heaviness.  
He stripped out of his clothes, never breaking eye contact.

"Oh, Ian," I said breathlessly.  
His pale skin was smooth and ageless. He was slender, slightly sinewy, toned. His arms were beautifully defined. He was not perfect; his legs were too thin and he had scars from the T-Rex, but those things made him more real to me, sexier. There was gray hair on his chest and coarse black hair below his waist. I'd never seen anything so sexy as he was just then. He relaxed and rested his hands on his stomach, regarding me. He was confident in his skin, of everything he was and was not.  
"Do I have your approval?" he asked, grinning.  
"More than that."  
I climbed over him and kissed him, letting my nipples graze his chest. He swore in shock and let out a shaky breath, cupping my breasts. I tugged at his earlobe with my teeth and he shuddered.  
He ran his tongue all over my legs and explored them with his hands, kneading the muscles I'd earned from running.  
He flipped me over and held my arms while he kissed me. His mouth slipped down my torso, leaving a wet trail until his tongue was pushing inside me, swirling in euphoric circles around my clit. My body trembled in ecstasy.  
"I can't stop shaking."  
He lifted my inner thigh and kissed along it. "Shhh...I've got you." He was shivering.  
"Find the positions you find most pleasurable," he said softly. His voice cracked. He was losing his composure and that alone was sexier than anything I could imagine.  
My knees shook. I trembled uselessly. My body began to take over.  
He held my thighs and finally sank into me with a groan, filling me, stretching me. His body trembled. His hands clenched my thighs and his fingernails dug into my skin. He mouthed words silently and closed his eyes from time to time. He looked so young, with his smooth skin and just a few lines around his eyes.  
"How does it feel?" I whispered, nipping his large earlobe.  
He arched against me with deep thrusts, slow, savoring. There was no rush because we could rush later. "Nothing I could ever describe."  
When he moved I felt pleasure like I had never known, spasms of it. "Fuck, this is amazing," he mumbled. His breathing was erratic and his movements sloppy with desire. He made a strangled sound in his throat and moved slowly, taking one shaky breath after another. His movements became faster and harder and rough. I wrapped my legs around him and he gasped and moved faster. I inhaled his musky scent. I raked my nails down his muscled back and he tensed, throwing his head back with a growl.  
His teeth closed over my ear and I felt his hot tongue sliding around my earlobes.  
The place where our bodies connected became warm and wet. I came again and again and again. It dripped down my thighs and we made squishing sounds when he slid in and out.  
We made the sounds we felt, and when we were finished he shone with sweat. His fingertips lingered inside me but he had exhausted himself. His breathing was heavy and deep.  
"Ian. Are you ok?"  
"Am I ok? I feel twenty years younger."  
A long silence followed.  
He turned on his side, resting his head on his arm. His dark hair was a mess. Sweat shone on his forehead and nose. I stared and stared, mesmerized.  
He ran a lazy finger over my breast, making loose circles. Fire still burned in those dark eyes.  
"Let's get you cleaned up. Come on."  
Before I could move his arms were under me and he was carrying me down the hall. He was strong.  
The bathroom was luxurious and full of mirrors and golden guilding and shiny black tile. He set me down in front of the large mirror and turned the shower on.  
"Get in." I got in and he followed, leaving his robe on the floor.  
The water was cool and calming. He pressed his body against me from behind and I was aware of just how close we were in height. He reached for a bottle of liquid soap and slipped his hands all over me, holding my breasts and rubbing the nipples, then between my legs, over my hips, through my hair. I was still with the silence of it and the feeling of his breath on my neck. When I moaned he silenced me with soft kisses.  
"You like liquid soap," I muttered absently.  
"I do like liquid soap." He began a trail of kisses at my ribs and continued downward, holding my hips.  
He dropped to his knees with his mouth between my legs, sucking and then pushing his tongue inside. I felt weak and my legs shook. He held my thighs steady, intensifying the movements until I climaxed and the shaking was so intense that he just held me still against him. I felt him growing hard against my back. It had only been fifteen minutes.  
He sighed lustily and pressed against me. He nipped my earlobe and whispered "Feel what you do to me?"  
He took me against the shower wall with his hands pressed against the tiles. I felt his warm breath in my ear, the sound of his heavy breathing. I felt the water running cold now. He swore, lifting me up in his arms and pounding me harder. He came inside of me with a ragged moan and pulled out, setting me gently on the ground and turning the water off. He body trembled.  
He stared at me for a long time. His eyes had were empty, or full of sadness. I could not tell the difference.  
I grimaced in the mirror.  
"What?"  
I pinched the fat on my hips, which were too high. "I do not like that."  
He snorted and grabbed them, squeezing hard. "You're kidding me. Don't ever lose this. Soft is sexy." He cleared his throat.  
"Come to Isla Nublar with me. I'm leaving everything behind and I want you with me."  
"What could you want that you don't have?"  
"I want to get away from this shit, and I want you there with me. Have the time of our lives. Let our cares fall away."


End file.
